


earth may not be so bitter

by OfShoesAndShips



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, i'm also only halfway though s1 but could i resist? no, i'm here in a new fandom with my queerplatonic relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 12:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13681869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfShoesAndShips/pseuds/OfShoesAndShips
Summary: There are just as many worlds in which they don’t happen as worlds in which they do. In this world, they happen like this.





	earth may not be so bitter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bookhobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/gifts).



> Title from This Bitter Earth by Dinah Washington

There are just as many worlds in which they don’t happen as worlds in which they do. There are worlds in which they happen slow or happen quickly, or get halfway and run; worlds in which they happen in ways that only they understand. And worlds in which they don’t happen; worlds in which their trust is too broken to heal, worlds in which one doesn’t get to the other in time, worlds in which they treat each other like enemies with a common cause, worlds in which they glance across the room at each other like only acquaintances. In some worlds it’s not them that happens but there’s still the Machine, and the man who built it, and someone who needs to be needed. In other worlds, they never step off their own paths in each other’s direction.

 

But in this world, they happen like this.

 

-

 

Reese shouldn’t be laughing at what Finch just said, but he is; he shouldn’t be relaxing, but he is. He shouldn’t say no when Finch asks if he minds Finch putting music on, but he does. He doesn’t expect Finch to be the kind of man who enjoys music and certainly not the kind of man who likes slow, bluesy jazz, but the song is mournful and careful and pretty, so he says nothing and doesn’t think too deeply. He lets his laugh trail off into the too-much-space that echoes around them, between them, and he’s conscious of Finch’s eyes catching him as he pulls his feet up on the sofa and curls in a little. He looks up, expecting Finch’s eyes to skitter away a touch too late, but they don’t; they meet his, and they look at each other for a moment that’s only barely too long. When they look away it’s thoughtless, casual, easy. The record skitters just the smallest bit as the arm goes over dust or grease or the faintest scratch, but Finch doesn’t move to see what it is that’s marred his record. Perhaps it is a scratch. Perhaps the record skitters in that same exact place every time it’s played, and he knows to wait for it, isn’t bothered enough to make it run smoothly. Perhaps he’s comforted by the skip, so analogue, so human, so telling.

 

Reese hums along as the refrain flows through the room, rubs at a twinge in his neck. He can hear paper on paper and wonders if Finch’s books, too, are a haven of flaws. Grease-print here, toast crumb there, a dogear, a broken spine.

 

He looks over; finds Finch looking at him. This time, he hadn’t felt it, or registered it if he had. Finch sighs, not pain or frustration or even exhaustion, but just a sigh; comfortable. Easy. Reese looks away and drapes his arm over the side of the chair, lets it swing a little. The air is faintly cool against the broken skin of his knuckles, and he hears Finch tut faintly. Fond, he thinks. Not concern, or not mostly; it’s only a little roughing up. Fondness, perhaps, for the reliability of his skinned hands. A known flaw, like a scratch on a record.

 

Reese yet again looks up, watches Finch, whose eyes are on his book now, whose fingers are tapping the back cover in rhythm to the start of the next song.

 

Slowly, Finch looks over at him, the corner of his mouth lifting just the softest fraction. And like a skip in a record, they happen, and the evening wears on, soft and slow and easy.


End file.
